I don’t know how you are but I hate to clean house! Years ago I told my hubby that he and I could clean the house together on one day of the weekend and we wouldn’t need to pay someone else to do it. His time must have been far more important to him than money for, from that day on, we’ve paid a lovely lady to clean the main part of our home a couple of times a month. There are certain rooms, however, that (for one reason or another) we close off when she comes. Why pay to have the seldom-used rooms cleaned? I’d take care of those when it became necessary. On THIS DAY, it was critical!

The panic had set in! My son and his family were comin’ for Thanksgiving and I had to get serious about dusting the super sentimental entertainment center in what once had been “Mom’s Room.” Talk about motivation to clean!! I was under the gun! Company (even family) has always forced me to really get the house in shape. Picture this. My normally neatly spiked white hair looked more like a horribly abused toothbrush. Comfort was my uniform of the day so my very informal sleepwear was perfect. Struggling to finish my first of many tasks for the day, my nose had begun to drip profusely. Why? Dust has been one of my highest allergens for as long as I can remember. Anyway, there I was…plopped on laminate flooring that reminded me that my tail bone had once been broken. I was pooped! Many trips up and down a little ladder takes its tole.

I’ve placed the piece of mostly oak so that I can see it from my desk and filled it with memories and parts of my past in the form of many of my favorite things. You know all about momentous, souvenirs, some of Mom’s more interesting collections, etc.. You likely have similar items in your own home. And I bet your collection gets dusted infrequently, too.

I’d spent a couple of hours removing treasures from every shelf and caressing each lovingly with a damp cloth. After all, this accumulation of mementos was almost as meaningful as the entertainment center itself! My son and I had chosen the very heavy piece when he was a teenager. Then we proceeded to have a blast applying Tung oil to it. We’d invested much more than money. I value this one piece of furniture more than any other in our home because of the quality time that he and I spent working on it together.

As I was almost finished, my left hand encountered a couple of spiral notebooks standing up next to an old Bible in one of the three bottom sections. I’d had them for so long that I’d forgotten they were there. They measured 9 1/2 x 6 inches so they couldn’t have been used for school work. Funny how time often erases so much…but the bluish-green one seemed to fit comfortably in my hand. So, I opened it to a random page in the middle and began to read the vaguely familiar handwriting. Before I was finished, tears traced down my cheeks as I recognized something that I’d written many years ago.

Being truly honest – At this point, I’m actually wondering where that woman who wrote poetry is for she is seldom if ever seen these days. Perhaps she is more the person I SHOULD be…rather than the person I am. That thought may explain some of the tears. Either way, there I sat on the hard floor, in my scruffy sleepwear, with my spiked hair askew, and surrounded by dust still floating about in a room full of memories. There I sat – stunned by the fact that I sort of felt indicted by the simple act of dusting? Ive changed in so many ways! I do know one thing about me that hasn’t changed, however! My thoughts and feelings about Christmas have never wavered. It IS all about Jesus Christ…God’s gift to us…and still, in my mind, Christmas is best represented by the cross.

I heard myself asking God, “Why did I find this now? I don’t have the time to finish reading this. I still have so much to do to get ready!” And yet I couldn’t seem to put it down. What am I supposed to do with it? It’s old…like me…but it’s spoken to my heart even after all these years. Maybe I’m supposed to share it with others. So, that’s what I’m going to do here.

What interest is there in a Christmas poem written maybe thirty years ago? Probably none. None the less, here it is. Rather than putting it in print, however, I’ll read it to you. Please understand that poetry is often a surprise to those who write it. And, it’s always open to interpretation. I was given the “picture” and simply tried to use my own language to express what I saw. My words don’t do the story justice – but perhaps someone out there will benefit from hearing them.   THIS IS CHRISTMAS

“Merry Christmas to all! And to all…a good night!”